Rain is good for the soul
by Lindellia
Summary: The random rainy reminiscings of one Ginny Potter.


This is Ginny just for the record... All comments are loved and cherished by me :D (hint hint hint )

**Disclaimer: **had i some polyjuice potion i may be able to pass as Jk Rowling. but right now i just look like an aussie teenager. ergo- none of this belongs to me :(

The rain is pounding down onto the tin roof of our house. But for all the racket it's making it makes me feel peaceful. Here is something that is right. That has always been right. The rain is clean, natural, gentle. Everything the world seems to lack at times. But while the rain falls and for just a little bit after, the whole earth seems brighter. As if the rain has washed away some of the dust and dirt that lies over our lives. Refreshing them and making them shine.

As I lay down my trashy novel, I snuggle further into my blanket and let my mind wander. I can see myself in The Burrow garden. I'm about five years old and am splashing around in the puddles with Fred and George while Ron glares on from the veranda. I can almost hear his mind growling silently. `Girls shouldn't like puddles. They should like cooking and sewing and small kids`. I imagine the argument that would take place between us after we had all trudged inside covered in mud. We had had so many of them and almost all of them ended in Ron sulking, me storming up into my room and sobbing for the next half an hour, Fred and George stifling their giggles, while stealing food from the fry pans as they whizzed past on their way to the stove or various benches as mum carried on cooking as if nothing had happened.

Having ended my flashback, I think about the other times when the rain had poured down during my life. There were the rainy days when I was home alone in 1991. I would look outside and think it is just not worth the effort if there's no Fred or George to throw mud at. So I would drag a blanket next to the fire, pull out one of my muggle romances from under my bed (much like the one I was reading just before really) and snuggle down into the warm depths, reading and drinking hot chocolate.

Next came the rainy days at Hogwarts. The school days when we all trooped down to the greenhouses while the rain poured down. Each of us pulling our cloaks tightly around us and watching as our robes got wetter every second. Or days when we were down in the dungeons, where you couldn't tell what the weather was like until you emerged from the darkness either blinking in the light or shuddering as icy sleet covered you when you reached the top of the stairs. Then there were the rainy quidditch matches. Whatever the weather, the stands were always packed. We would all squint our eyes against the rain and desperately try and match the commentary with what little we could see. And when the match was finally over we would march back to our common rooms, dripping all over the place and leaving large puddles for Flich to moan over. We would scramble for a place in front of the fire or for one of the showers. And if you weren't so lucky, you would strip off your sopping robes and hide under the doona until whatever lucky bugger got out of the shower. Hoping to heck that they hadn't used up all the hot water before you got there. But the best times were the weekends or holidays. When the common rooms were deserted and you could snag one of the best chairs right by the fire. The ones usually monopolized by the seventh years. And we would all laze around, toasting marshmallows or whatever Fred and George had managed to procure from the kitchen.

Then the year where Harry was horcrux hunting. The castle seemed to resent the Death Eaters occupation of Hogwarts more than the students and when it rained, it poured. Anything that could, would leak and we would be constantly dodging lakes in the hallways or drying out our books in between classes. The castle was cold and wet and for the most part very uncomfortable. The common rooms were a small relief as the house elves tried to make us as happy as they could. They left food for us and made sure the fire was always burning brightly. But most of that year was spent freezing, sopping and fairly miserable.

The rain that fell on George's, Lupin and Tonk's, Colin's and so many other peoples funerals was a different sort of rain. It fell from our eyes and was a harsh and bitter rain. Salty tears flowed for those we had lost. Bitter droplets fell, every drop full of grief and loss, anger and pain.

The wet weather that I flew through for my quidditch matches and training with the Harpies did nothing to dampen my spirit. That rain made me feel invincible. It was a cold reminder that I was doing what I loved and what I had been told was unnatural by a certain unnamed brother since I has unthinkingly first shared my dream. I had accomplished both my hearts desires, Becoming a professional quidditch player and marrying Harry Potter. Though not for the reasons I had thought when I was five and eight and eleven and well… I think you understand.

Then there was the rain that fell inside and outside of my room in St Mungos on the night James Sirius Potter was born. The rain coursing down the window of my room matched the tears flowing down my face as I held my beautiful baby (who turned out to be worse than Fred and George put together, but at the moment was lying peacefully in my arms with a lock of my hair wrapped tightly in his fist). These tears were different though from the ones that fell on the funeral days. These were filled with joy at new life instead of the sorrow of another's ending. These tears celebrated the new family that was mine and Harry's.

This same joyful rain flooded down on the birth of Albus and Lily too. In between came the rainy days and stormy nights where I would splash in puddles outside with my children during the day and then comfort them in the dark of the night. The times where I would wipe away my children's tears as they fell and wipe away the hurt too. Eventually came the day when James left for Hogwarts and the tears came then too.

I snuggle down further into my blanket and withdraw my mind from the past. Glancing at the clock dad found at a muggle garage sale (The family didn't realize what it was, thought it was junk as the hands wouldn't move. Funny how they didn't notice the clock had six hands and all were pointing at dead instead of a number. It is odd how far muggles will go to ignore magic isn't it?) I can see the five new hands pointing exactly where I expect them to be. Three hands pointing down to 6 o'clock one to 2 and one to 9. Meaning, the three kids at school, Harry at work and me here with my blanket and a rainy day all to myself. I do enjoy these rainy days. They are definitely good for the soul.


End file.
